


Hollow

by BellamyTaft



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Horror, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-08 01:59:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12244872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellamyTaft/pseuds/BellamyTaft
Summary: Seto and Mokuba are brought back to the abandoned Kaiba Mansion for what they hope will be the final time, only to find themselves caught by a ghost from their past in a fight for their freedom.





	1. The Attic

"What part of sell or burn it wasn't clear?" Seto asked the realtor, standing in between him and the mansion he discarded a year before. The midday heat already had a narrow band of sweat forming on his forehead, but the realtor wouldn't budge, ignoring the budding sheen on her own face.

"There are a great number of personal items inside," she said. "The team refuses to touch it until it's been cleared."

"Niisama," Mokuba said. He was quiet until Seto looked down at him. "I didn't leave anything."

"I didn't either. The team is welcome to demolish everything."

She shook her head to Seto's frustration. "They insist. If you want the house off your hands, you'll need to go through it all so they can't be held liable."

"What do I need to sign to waive the liability?"

"Mr. Kaiba," she said, almost sounding as frustrated as Seto, "It will take days to draft the document, and we have someone interested in the property starting on the first."

Seto glanced at the massive front doors, the same doors that held him inside for years. The house had stood abandoned since a year after Gozaburo's death, when Seto couldn't shake the feeling he was still being watched. Dismissing the staff hadn't helped; neither had taking down the security cameras.

They moved and never looked back.

"You're really not going to let this go, huh?" Mokuba asked, and the realtor shook her head.

"We can't take the risk of a lawsuit."

"I'm telling you I'm not going to sue."

"There are apparently boxes of antiques, particularly in the attic."

Seto inclined his head, more as a gesture to himself than her. They had left a lot of Gozaburo's things behind, and Gozaburo had never bought anything cheap in his life. While he understood their concern, he could hardly bring himself to care about a few thousand-dollar knick-knacks, not when it meant spending the day inside.

"Please, Mr. Kaiba. We can begin closing tomorrow."

After being on the market a year, the idea of washing his hands of the mansion was too much to pass up.

"Fine. But even if we leave things inside, that means we have no interest in them. The crew can take what they want or trash what they want."

The realtor smiled in relief and passed over the key, which Seto took with a glare. In and out, he told himself. She wouldn't stay around to make sure they combed the rubbish left behind.

The door groaned as it always had, and a rush of chills trailed Seto's neck to his legs when he stepped in. He held the door for Mokuba and left the key on the entry table, noting that aside from a layer of dust and the light from uncurtained windows, nothing had changed. The deep reds surrounding them that painted the walls and floors like blood, the chandelier that hung too low, the displays of wealth left to age—erased the year gone like he had never walked out.

"Come on," he said, leading Mokuba up the stairs and to their old rooms. "Let's double check for our things first."

"I really didn't leave anything," Mokuba said, close at Seto's side.

"We'll go in and out."

They scoured Seto's room first, giving Mokuba opportunity to look through all the drawers and cabinets he had never been allowed to peek inside. "You really didn't hide anything fun in here?" he asked, and stuck his head inside the closet, tapping his fist against the wall like he was searching for one of the mansion's many hidden passages.

"Only textbooks and more textbooks."

"I don't see any."

"I put them in the attic." Along with the rest of Gozaburo's possessions Seto hadn't wanted to bother with. "And I packed all but the furniture."

Mokuba agreed Seto's room was boring before moving to his own room, where he found nothing of interest aside from a hidden pack of playing cards. Mokuba laughed when he found them, and asked, "Do you think the rest of our stolen toys and games are still here?"

Seto put down the framed picture of a turtle Mokuba had left on his desk. "I doubt he kept them."

"But maybe. Wasn't he always shoving stuff in the attic and basement?"

"The attic, maybe."

The path to the outside lab Seto had claimed was in the basement, and Gozaburo never wanted to risk anyone stumbling across it. And Seto followed his example with it since he wanted his lab to remain private. Last he had checked, boxes of old paperwork were still piled high in front of the door.

"We should go look."

"What happened to in and out?" Seto asked.

"I wanna see what's hidden up there."

"If we find anything good, it will be alcohol."

For some reason, that got Mokuba to his feet. "We've gotta go look."

"We don't have to."

Mokuba took his hand to drag him toward the stairs. To say they went through all the floors, Seto followed along with him with no delay, but did check his watch. If they could be out by five, Seto could squeeze in a few more hours of work before going to bed. A day like this called for a full night of sleep to keep the memories in the past.

"What if we want to take stuff with us?"

"Have you missed anything in the last year?"

At the top step, just outside the attic door, Mokuba paused. "Well, no. But maybe I just don't know I'm missing something."

"That's how hoarders get started."

The attic was a maze of boxes and shadows. The streams of light through the window highlighted the dust floating slowly around them. It was thick enough Mokuba reached out a hand to cut through it. And with the stifling heat crowding the space, Seto almost expected Mokuba's hand to cut through that as well.

"Looks like no one's been here in a decade."

"And you still want to look?"

"It's our last chance."

Mokuba started and Seto stood in the doorway, content to watch while Mokuba rifled through the first box. Seto had never seen the trinkets inside—a candlestick with a half-burned candle, a pair of bookends, a paperweight, and many more nickel objects Seto couldn't remember having seen in the mansion in the years spent inside. Even as Mokuba stacked them in a row to look over them, Seto couldn't bring back a single memory of any of them.

In mere hours, he would never have to see any of them again.

"What about this?" Mokuba asked, holding up a letter opener from the same box.

"Do you often receive mail?"

"Niisama, it's made to look like a sword."

"Do you really want to keep an odd statement of his supposed strength around?"

Making a face, Mokuba put it down. "No-oo thank you," he said. "We'll just find the toys and go."

"He didn't keep the toys."

"You don't know that unless you help me look."

There were too many boxes for them to go through, all full of the trifles they had chosen to hide when Seto took over the household. He should have thrown out everything back then, and that way, they wouldn't have been stuck digging through the boxes now. He had wanted to be done with this house and everything inside of it. He should have known better than to assume he was ever going to have it all completely behind him.

But to speed the search along, Seto opened boxes without taking out anything, only to prove there were no toys or games tucked away.

"He had a lot of boring stuff," Mokuba said, picking up a stack of books only to drop them back in the box, casting up a billow of dust. "I mean, are old people really so boring?"

Seto laughed and closed a box of paintings. "It depends on the person."

"I'm not going to be boring. I'm going to go on adventures and keep playing our games. And I'll make sure you don't get to be too boring either."

"I'm already boring?"

Mokuba put down the mirror he found in the next box. "Not really."

"You offer such confidence."

"No, no really. Compared to Gozaburo, you're a hoot."

The room darkened, and without an overhead bulb, the only light came from the cobwebbed window at the far end of the room. Mokuba went to look out, asking, "Was it supposed to rain? There's a big storm cloud overhead."

"I didn't check. We should go."

"Afraid of getting wet?" Mokuba asked, glancing at the cloud once more. "There's probably an umbrella in one of these. Bring the candle and I'll look."

"The candle?"

"Yeah. I can't see what's in here."

Seto realized what Mokuba meant at the same time Mokuba turned to stare at the candlestick, where the small flame burned steadily. There wasn't a flicker without air circulation, but the shadows it cast seemed to keep growing.

"Did you light that?" Mokuba asked.

"No."

They both stepped closer to it, and Seto cupped his hand around the flame, then blew it out. They watched the smoke twist a moment before Mokuba picked up the candle, complaining about a drop of wax singeing his finger.

"How'd it get lit?" he asked, scanning it top to bottom, then doing the same with the candlestick.

Seto couldn't think of an explanation to offer. He pulled out his phone to use the flashlight despite the low battery warning, and did a lap of the attic to make certain they were alone. Somewhere, there was an explanation, but nowhere in sight.

"Niisama?"

"I don't know."

He hated those words and couldn't stop looking for a reason. Flames didn't just appear out of nowhere, and if Mokuba didn't come off so confused, Seto would have assumed it was a joke. But Mokuba hadn't stopped searching for something that would have lit the wick.

"There has to be something. He wouldn't have kept a weird magic trick."

"No," Seto agreed. "He wouldn't have."

Then why did he have one in storage? Seto took it from Mokuba to do his own search, but as best as he could tell, it was just a candle and candlestick.

"Are we sure it was really lit?" Mokuba asked. "Maybe there's just some poison fumes up here getting to us."

That was hardly more probable than a flame appearing from nowhere, but it didn't reappear, and it was easier to let the strange moment go than to linger on it any longer. Seto put it down back where they found it.

"Maybe. Are you satisfied there is nothing up here?"

"Yeah, now I'm just freaked out. Do we need to put anything back?"

"We don't."

"Good. This house always did give me the creeps."

The attic was still dim, and for how quickly the cloud had come into place, Seto had expected it to roll out right after. There wasn't any indication it had begun to rain, but he went over to the window to be sure, finding what must have been the same cloud Mokuba mentioned before. "There's no rain yet," Seto said. "We should go before it starts."

He leaned closer to the window to get a better look at the deepening cloud. His breath fogged the glass, and Seto moved away to run his finger over the pane, finding it cold, somehow, in the height of summer.

"Mokuba?"

Seto found Mokuba staring at the candle, and the flame burning steadily on top.

"I didn't touch it," Mokuba said. "I didn't touch it, Niisama."

Each step echoed through the room, ending with Seto beside the candle, reaching for it to make sure it was real. The heat licked the tip of his finger, and Seto hardly brought himself to pull away while Mokuba whispered beside him, "I didn't touch it. I didn't touch it."

"Let's go," Seto said, and left it to burn. "Maybe it will take the house down for all our troubles."

Mokuba fell in close to Seto's side, looking over his shoulder again and again until the candle was out of sight. And even then, he kept checking as if it would follow them out.

"I need…how did…how is it doing that?"

"We've seen a lot we can't explain."

"Not in our house."

"Another fifty steps and we'll never have to call this place ours again."

Since it had been so bright outside before, they hadn't turned on any lights. The cloud left the hallways dark, despite the windows in the foyer that normally let in plenty of sunlight. Now, the only light dripping in shone gray and faint.

Seto and Mokuba stopped walking at the same time, just as they reached the bottom of the stairs. They were so close to leaving, but across the foyer, framed by the two ceiling-height windows, the front door vanished.


	2. The Foyer

Seto took a step forward, Mokuba pinned to his side, and called out, "Who's here? You're trespassing."

"I don't think that'll make them come out," Mokuba whispered.

"This is still our house. They have no right to be here."

The door couldn't have been gone. They went to it to check, because Seto knew there must have been something he was overlooking from the distance. Whoever had broken into pull a prank so elaborate couldn't have done more than hastily put up the wall. If they had used any sort of putty to hold it in place, he would be able to take it down without making too much of a fuss.

Whoever this was wanted to scare them, most likely for show. Seto wouldn't give them one. Although he couldn't see anyone watching, they had to be there. It would explain the realtor's insistence on them going inside.

She would be fired, even if the buyer was real.

He ran his hands over the wall, but after two minutes of searching, he couldn't find a seam or even a tacky spot. Nothing from window to window indicated there had ever been a door there. It was impressive work for the hour they had been upstairs, work beyond what Seto could have imagined.

"Where is it?" Mokuba asked.

"They sealed their work well. But they couldn't have gotten all the doors."

Seto wasn't willing to leave Mokuba alone, so he took his hand. "Let's leave out the back."

There were three exterior doors on the main floor, and for all of them to be sealed like the front door was, would have taken a team, probably more than a dozen to get the work completed. And for them to stay hidden? It wasn't possible, meaning one of the exits would have been left open.

The first door was in the never-used ballroom, opening out to the back garden, or it would have, if it hadn't been covered as well. Like he had done with the front door, Seto went to it, checking the room on the way for anyone else. But there was no one, and no sign of a door ever having been there. Even the dated wallpaper carried from one side of the room to the other, and it was a wallpaper no one could have been able to match down to the faded colors.

"What is going on?" Mokuba asked, and with the large space around them, the waver in his voice echoed.

Was it VR? Seto wondered. The wallpaper alone was a clear enough sign that it couldn't have been real. The amount of effort and planning something of this scale would have taken must have meant nothing they were looking at was real. But to be sure, Seto took Mokuba to the kitchen to check the garage door.

It was gone like the others, and no one answered when Seto called.

"You're not talking to me, Niisama."

"Let's go back to the front door."

"There isn't a front door."

There was, somewhere. They just needed to find it.

"Then we'll make a door," Seto said, checking the foyer once again for anyone. There were probably hidden cameras for the trespassers to watch through, but more disturbing was why anyone would want to go through this trouble. Would a video of Seto and Mokuba trying to escape their house sell? Was this revenge for something?

Was it VR?

That idea hadn't left his thoughts, and when Seto gazed over the wall a final time, he believed it above everything else. No one could have gotten a wall constructed and dried in under an hour, not this flawlessly.

"How will we make a door?"

"By breaking a window or finding the access code."

Mokuba's grip on his arm tightened. "Access code?"

"The wall is too perfect," Seto said. "It has to be VR."

"Wouldn't we remember going in a pod? Or someone putting us in one?"

"Not necessarily."

He checked the wall again, and once more to be sure. For all the years he had wished to walk out of that door, he knew its exact location and where the wall would have had to start. And even the small black scuff on the wall where Hobson had knocked Seto back with laptop in hand hadn't been moved or covered. It was the same wall.

So it wasn't real.

Seto's virtual reality was the only one he knew of, which meant whoever was behind this was using his software. And since it had to be his, Seto knew how to hack in. There was an override code built in, a necessity after being trapped inside his own worlds twice before, and Seto used it, "Error 681."

But the navigation menu didn't appear. Nothing changed.

"Was that supposed to do something?"

"This must not be my software," Seto said. "But how haven't I heard of a program this realistic?"

"Then how do we get out?"

Mokuba's questions were obvious, and they were starting to wear on Seto. He didn't have answers to obvious questions, and there were only so many times he could admit to not knowing the answer. Finding a way to respond to one of them would be a start, something to settle the budding fear between the two of them.

"Find something heavy. We'll break a window."

They spanned out to look, but Seto didn't let Mokuba get too far. They stayed in the foyer during the search, but the house had been mostly cleared out, and the only things left in the nearby area were bulky pieces of furniture. There wasn't anything to use, unless Seto wanted to try throwing a table at the glass. But they were heavy enough he didn't think he would be able to get the necessary force behind it.

"The windows don't just open?" Mokuba asked, going over to try. He ran his hands over the pane before jerking them back. "Niisama? It's cold."

Although he had felt the same on the window in the attic, he went over to put his hand on the glass, but unlike Mokuba, he didn't pull it away. Even his VRs didn't have this level of tactile sensation. He felt the cold differently on the different parts of his palm and up to his fingers, between his fingers, even in pinpricks on the tops of his fingers.

This wasn't any VR he had heard of or thought possible.

"Stay here. Right here."

"Where are you going?"

"To find whoever broke into my property."

He wouldn't go anywhere he couldn't see Mokuba, but if people were hiding around corners or behind the series of closed doors, Seto would find them. He opened all the doors first and left them open to prevent anyone in hiding from moving back into place after he had gone. Each room got a long stare, with a quick glance to Mokuba between each. Seto told himself not to call out anymore, since if he was being filmed, he didn't want to give them more footage than they had.

A search of all visible space came up with nothing. Seto left doors open and checked them again on his way back to Mokuba, but never found any indication that anyone had been in the house.

"There's no one?" Mokuba asked.

"No."

No one, no cameras, nothing.

"The rain's about to start."

"There's no need for an umbrella until we can find the door," Seto said, and pulled out his phone to call Roland. "Maybe Roland can still get to it from the outside."

The second he made the call, his battery died. "Of course," Seto muttered, and turned to Mokuba. "Let me borrow your phone."

When Mokuba took it out of his pocket, he reacted to it like he had the window, just without letting it go. "It's…" he started, but offered the phone to Seto without another word. It was as cold as the window, possibly colder, and it wouldn't power on.

"Was your battery dead?"

"Fully charged."

Seto flipped it over to see if he could take the battery out, like that would reset it, but there was a thin layer of frost on the back, which shouldn't have been possible having just been in Mokuba's pocket. None of this should have been possible.

"Is there a house phone still?"

"I disconnected the service."

That only left breaking a window, or maybe they hadn't gotten the balcony doors upstairs. If Seto jumped down first, then caught Mokuba, it could likely be done without injuries. But that had to be a last resort. He wouldn't risk injury to Mokuba over a prank.

"Um, Niisama?"

"Hm?" Seto hummed, returning to his search for something to shatter the window.

"You know everything. So, how is that possible?"

"The phone?"

"The rain."

Not understanding what Mokuba meant, Seto followed his gaze to the window, where thick white drops had begun rolling down the pane. And looking past them, it was coming down in a similar manner, but not in drops, but long streams that fell more like paint than water.

"It isn't."

A mounting sense of dread settled in Seto's chest, pressing down deeper the more he realized he couldn't explain any of this. They couldn't have gotten the doors all hidden so perfectly, they couldn't have shut down both phones, and they couldn't have created a cloud that produced whatever this liquid was. He couldn't explain it and he couldn't get out of it.

"What is that?"

"Proof they are going to some extremes to scare us."

For Mokuba's sake, he needed to keep a calm exterior. No one was this perfect, and Seto would find the flaw in their plan.

No matter how perfectly they put up the wall, all walls came down.

"We're just back to breaking a window," Seto said. "That or taking down the false wall."

"With what?"

There was plenty in the attic Seto thought would work to break the glass, but he didn't want to go back up, or put Mokuba through that experience again. The candle had seemed unexplainable at first, but it was likely a prop from the theater or film. They hadn't broken anything open, and the mechanics would have been hidden inside.

Everything would have an explanation. That knowledge would have to be enough to tide him over until the other answers became known.

"Something heavy, maybe about this long," Seto said, holding his hands about two feet apart. "But anything solid would work."

Mokuba's panic was clear, and Seto thought if he showed any of the same worry, Mokuba would snap. Seto admitted to himself that he was concerned, but refused to call it anything more than that. He was new to this set of circumstances, but it wouldn't be much longer before he unraveled it all.

They spread out while keeping in each other's line of sight, and Mokuba found a silver candlestick in the dining room. "Will this work?"

Seto tested the weight, and while it was shorter than he preferred, it was solid. Gozaburo never bought anything cheap, and using his own possessions to break his house felt right.

"Stand back."

He lined up with the window first, testing the distance before taking his first swing. The glass wasn't fragile, but a few swings would have to at least make a crack form for him to work from. He kept them even and at the same level of force, but after ten swings, the only thing with so much as a scratch was the candlestick.

"Did he build this house with bulletproof glass?" Seto asked, shaking out his arms.

If the glass wouldn't break, the wall would. Seto moved over a few steps to line up with the missing door and started swinging once again, this time relieved to see the drywall break, right over the dark scuff. The hole grew with every swing, until Seto handed the candlestick to Mokuba to pull at it with his hands.

A few more minutes and they could be done with all of this.

Seto reached through to find the doorknob, but his hand only found a wall. Had he started in the wrong spot? He bent over to look through, but the dim light wasn't enough to see much.

"Can you turn on the light?"

When it came on, Seto took a step back, trying to understand what he was looking at. But what he was seeing inside the hole in the wall didn't line up with what he was seeing outside.

The wall he had just broken through was untouched, down to the scuff. But that was at least two feet deep, and that didn't line up with the windows on either side of him. He went to one of them to look around, trying to see where the house jutted out, but there was no sign of it.

Then how was he seeing it?

Seto tore down more of the wall, and when he stepped in, the dread returned to his chest. The windows lined up with the second wall, unchanged down to the white drips.

This couldn't have been happening. Or it was a VR program Seto couldn't fathom. Or maybe it was a nightmare, although he had never had any sort of dream with this level of twisted realism. Normally recognizing he was in a dream would wake him, and he was still standing there, staring at the impossible.

"Niisama?" Mokuba called, and stuck his head inside. "What…?"

"I wish I knew," he said, and took the candlestick back.

He turned it around in his grip and swung it at the second wall, breaking through to find a third identical wall behind it. It wasn't possible, and he refused to admit the front door wasn't somewhere behind one of them. Wherever he stopped, the door would be hidden one behind, so he couldn't stop swinging and taking down walls, even though each one that came down only revealed the whole one behind it.

It was Mokuba's hand on his arm that made him stop, one swing into the fifth wall.

"There's nothing there."

"There has to be something," Seto insisted. "There's no explanation—"

"Niisama."

Facing Mokuba opened Seto to the rest of the foyer. He shouldn't have been able to see any of it four walls deep, but the ones he had broken through were gone, and the room was the same size it had been from the beginning. He had broken through ten feet worth of space, and that had vanished with the rest of the evidence of his work. The only thing that remained was the crack he had just made on the fifth wall.

Had he really gone through all that trouble for it to have just disappeared?

"This isn't our way out," Mokuba said, and quickly wiped away the tear that fell.

Seto threw the candlestick to the corner of the room, knowing Mokuba was right. Whoever was behind this must have wanted something from them, and wasn't going to give them an easy escape. But since the trespasser wanted something, Seto knew there would be a path to an exit. It would just lead them into a trap.

"You're right," Seto said, and pulled Mokuba close to him. "I'm sorry. We'll figure this out."

In a sharp, crisp moment, the crack on the wall widened, and too quickly to follow, branched up toward the ceiling. The sound split through the air, and Seto pulled Mokuba away from it in case anything broke off and fell. But the crack was narrow, almost like a pencil line drawn from waist-height to ceiling.

"It's okay," Seto said. "It's no worse than a settling crack."

Although, he knew he would never convince himself that was what it was.

Mokuba had to wipe his face again when he looked at the wall. "It's coming in."

The white ooze from the windows filled the crack before it began to drip inside. For having such a thick appearance, it ran quickly and smoothly down to a puddle on the floor, spreading wider with every second that passed.

And for a moment, Seto thought he heard something behind him.

"Did you hear that?" he asked.

Mokuba shook his head.

"There's someone here," Seto said. And he was certain of it now. They had given themselves away with the noise, something between a whisper and a laugh, and Seto wasn't playing this game any longer.

"Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"To find him."


	3. The Kitchen

Because Seto hired a designer to put together their new home, nothing had been taken from the kitchen. Seto counted on finding a knife block even if the trespassers had weapons; it was better than walking around empty-handed, not knowing when they would find someone.

It was still sitting on the counter by the stove, and Seto took the largest for himself and the next one down for Mokuba. "Only for protection," he said as he handed it over. He didn't want Mokuba looking to hurt anyone, although with Mokuba's current state, just getting him to hold on to the knife proved a challenge. He stood too close to Seto, breaths heavy enough to fill the silence, and gaze never still.

"Hey," Seto said, and knelt in front of him, forcing his eyes forward until he could only see Seto. "We've been through things like this before. There's no reason to assume it's anything different."

"You said it's maybe VR."

"If it is, it isn't mine. But we'll find the person responsible and handle it. We always handle it."

"Who would do this?"

"I don't know." Seto put down his knife to hold Mokuba's arms. "But at least we don't have the friendship brigade telling us true love is the answer."

It got Mokuba to laugh, briefly, but better than the tears. "So we just gotta find whoever's here," he said with a trace of determination.

"That's it. We find who did this and stop them. Sounds simple when it's put like that, doesn't it?"

Mokuba nodded, and with a final reassuring squeeze, Seto stood with his knife. "I'm going to see if the garage door is blocked like the front. Stay back there for a few minutes," Seto said, and pointed over to the island. "Keep an eye out for me."

The exam of the wall covering the garage door wouldn't take as long. Seto knew breaking through the first layer wouldn't do anything, and if he saw another wall behind it, he could stop. It was what he expected would happen, but not trying might have been an oversight. They had time to be thorough.

He conserved energy by twisting the knife through the wall like a screw, planning to make a hole only big enough to see through. But when he felt the wall give, the white ooze bubbled up and started to run.

It wasn't an exterior wall.

Seto wiped off the knife with a pants leg and didn't try going any deeper. The point was clear and he didn't need additional proof. Breaking down the walls wasn't an option.

"Did you really hear someone?" Mokuba asked.

Facing him, Seto's gaze flickered down to the knife in Mokuba's hand and to where he had carved the countertop. "I did, but don't know from where."

The knife didn't stop moving.

"Where are we gonna start?"

Seto went over to Mokuba to stop his hand before he ended up slicing it open. "Take you back where?" Seto asked, reading what Mokuba had scratched into the marble. The words were rough and shaky, but clear enough. Take me back.

Blinking, Mokuba glanced down. "I didn't write that."

"I just saw you write it."

"Niisama, I didn't write it."

It didn't look like Mokuba's handwriting, but it had come from his hand. Seto took the knife from Mokuba and put it back in the block before returning to the words. Take me back. Each one sat wrong with him for a different reason. Who was being referenced? Back implied the unknown person had been around them before. And take called on Seto and Mokuba to do something to complete a task. Without knowing who it was, Seto couldn't begin to dissect it.

"Don't worry about it," Seto told him. "It's probably just another illusion."

But one that had forced Mokuba to do something without his consent or awareness.

"Why don't I get a knife?"

How could any prank, illusion, or revenge accomplish that? Even in VR, to write over someone's thoughts? Mokuba had been talking while he carved the message, so his mind hadn't been completely taken over. It was only enough to force his hand and to make him not notice.

What else could it do without them knowing? Had it forced them to imagine everything unexplainable up until that point? It would have been a relief if not for the fact it could control their thoughts and actions.

"Niisama."

"It's hard to explain."

"Try."

How did he know it wasn't working in Mokuba now?

"You don't remember carving the words," Seto said. "I don't want to risk something else happening you aren't in control of."

"You think someone's controlling my thoughts?"

"It's hard to say what's happening."

"And that means yours can't be controlled?"

Seto put down his knife. "I'm not saying that."

"You kinda are."

"We still don't know what this is," Seto said. "So until then, some things need to be cautious." And those things all related to Mokuba's safety.

"Are you going to carry your knife?" Mokuba asked, and picked up the one Seto just put down. The simple action shouldn't have made Seto's breath catch, but he found himself forcing down the panic. Mokuba knew what he was doing grabbing it. This wasn't him acting apart from his own will.

"I am."

"Then I'm carrying one too."

This outlook was preferable over the tears, but Seto still wasn't sure about Mokuba carrying a weapon. What if the next time he wasn't in control meant hurting himself? Was the control deep enough it could cause Mokuba to do something he never would do by choice?

"But if it happens again—"

"To either of us, we both put them down."

Mokuba was stubborn and Seto relented. He'd keep an eye on him, as well as every doorway, every hall, and every corner. Taking control of Mokuba, even for such a short period, deserved no mercy, and Seto resolved to make sure whoever was behind it would receive none.

The house groaned and shook, and a crack similar to the one in the foyer broke across the ceiling. It quickly filled with the white and started to rain down on half of the kitchen, but instead of hitting the floor in a puddle, it turned into mist, suspended in front of them. At first it was cloudy, but when they stepped back to the far end of the room, enough had fallen to remove the transparency.

Two minutes later, it was a solid wall of white. But not even white, Seto thought, taking a step closer to it. Once it solidified, or looked it, Seto's mind couldn't process it as anything. Half of the room had been overtaken with a substance Seto didn't have a word for and didn't have the thoughts to describe it even to himself. He knew it had been white, but now couldn't see it that way, like the simple action of observing something took away its essence.

He reached out to touch it, but his hand went through what he thought was a solid surface. He felt nothing, not hot or cold, not wet or dry, not soft or rough. The feeling in his hand disappeared with the contact, and when he brought his hand out, it didn't return although his hand was clean.

"What is it?" Mokuba asked.

"Empty," was the best Seto could do to explain it. There was nothing; it was nothing. He flexed his hand in search of sensation, but none returned. It moved normally and didn't seem weaker, but it felt as hollow as it had inside.

"I don't like it," Mokuba said, and Seto heard him take a skidded step back. "I don't—It's like…how can anything be that…nothing?"

For not seeing anything when he stared, Seto couldn't take his gaze away. His breathing slowed along with his heart rate, and the apprehension dissolved with them. If he just kept looking ahead, something would sort itself out. His world was always so loud and this made it so quiet. There would be no more pain or stress, just the easy calm of nothing.

Seto used the hand with the knife when he reached for it again.

"Niisama!"

Mokuba grabbed his shirt and pulled him away, into the island and startling him back to himself. The knife clattered to the floor and Seto didn't pick it up, but covered his face to break his field of vision into only what he could understand.

"Don't look at it," Seto said. "And don't touch it."

"Then we have to go."

The crack on the ceiling crawled toward them, and with it, the kitchen disappeared little at a time. But Seto stalled to watch its progress against the wall, the smallest area he could look at to keep from getting lost in it, and caught its increase in momentum.

"Come on."

Seto took Mokuba's hand with the one he could feel and led him into the adjoining dining room. Mokuba protested that they forgot the knives, but there was no time to go back for them, and when pieces of the dining room vanished, he knew the knives were gone with the rest.

"Keep going. Through here."

A short hallway took them to the library, still filled with books they didn't have the space for in their new home. The entrance was a grand set of double doors, sturdy, but perhaps not enough to stop whatever it was that followed them. Despite logic, Seto locked the doors behind them and waited to see if the doors would disappear too.

"What if it fills the house?" Mokuba asked.

"Someone wants something from us," Seto said. "We can't think—"

The small sliver of light under the door filled with the white liquid before misting, and Seto and Mokuba took a step away from it, both waiting to have to run again.

But the door stayed as it was.

Seto rubbed his lips together and looked down at Mokuba to gauge how he was handling this. He seemed to be stuck between terrified and confused, and when Seto put an arm around him, the confusion faded for the terror. They would run out of places to hide eventually.

It was herding them somewhere.


	4. The Library

"The other door," Seto said, and he and Mokuba went to either of them to make sure they were locked. Seto wasn't convinced it would do anything, but maybe the illusion of safety would give them a moment to think this all through.

"What about the windows?"

"Probably not."

The windows in the library were two floors high and took up nearly all of the far wall. If Gozaburo had gotten ballistic glass for the front windows, he certainly would have for an entire wall of them. But even if they did break, streams of white drizzled down the outside of them. It might have had the same effect in liquid form as it did in solid, and Seto needed to consider the risks associated with it, both known and unknown. If the feeling returned to his hand, he might be more willing to chance it getting on them.

"We could hide in one of the secret rooms," Mokuba suggested.

"Until when?"

But hiding Mokuba…no, Seto needed to keep him close to make sure nothing happened to him. Someone else was around. Someone else was doing this to them.

They checked the room to be sure they were alone, and only then did they sit down.

"What do you think it is?" Mokuba asked. His foot kicked the bottom of the couch, sending out an empty echo through the shelves, and he didn't look away from the mist at the door. "It was like, I could see it, but there was nothing there. You touched it, I guess, but you also sorta didn't."

"It doesn't have any sensation," Seto said, and flexed his hand again. "There was nothing, not even the temperature of the room or the feeling of air moving across my skin."

"What are you doing with your hand?"

"Nothing," Seto said, and stopped messing with it. "We can't stay here much longer."

"But we haven't figured out what's chasing us."

"What do you mean, what?" Seto asked. "We will find out who it is."

Mokuba shrugged and kept his shoulders raised defensively. "Who could do all this?" he asked, and kept bouncing his foot. "If we aren't in VR, how is any of this possible?"

"We've seen a lot that I would have assumed impossible before. We'll get our answers."

"Where do we start?"

"There is little chance they got all the exits," Seto said. "I can think of a few unlikely to be blocked."

Mokuba gave a little unbelieving stare, prompting Seto to ask, "What?"

"After all this, you really think there's a way for us to get out? The whole cloud is raining down. What if we open a door and it gets on us?"

It took effort not to return to flexing his hand. He could find a way around it if he needed to, but there were so many things that could have gone wrong. Even if they found an umbrella or thick coats, there was no guarantee it wouldn't start misting the moment they stepped into it. It needed a crack or an opening to get through the walls, but clothing and umbrellas were too porous to count on.

"No one could have devised a perfect trap," Seto said.

Mokuba rubbed his lips together and nodded. "That's kinda what I meant."

"You think this is some sort of supernatural occurrence? That it's more magic?" Seto said, and tried to keep the condescension out of his tone. Mokuba was afraid and needing answers was understandable. And after all they had gone through, Seto couldn't really blame him for jumping first to the more extreme conclusions. Seto couldn't say it was an impossible assumption, not after what he had seen.

"It's happened before."

"I'm sure there's an explanation. When we find him, we'll get it out."

Seto got up to check the windows, trying to gauge whether the rain was falling only on the house or farther out. It was difficult to tell with the amount of white already coating on the panes, but in the narrow gaps, he didn't see any staining the grass. Then it was some sort of man-made construction, likely set on a boundary to only cover the house.

Maybe it was paint and the mist was something else. It didn't explain the loss of sensation, unless maybe the mist had some sort of numbing agent? It couldn't have been a paralytic since he could still use his hand, but there must have been something in the mist.

He could work within that understanding.

"Did you pull out a book?"

Seto put his hand on the window, another cold one, and shook his head. When he lowered his hand, an outline remained in frost. It was possible, he told himself, but required so much effort. Why go to such an extreme as to frost the glass?

"Why?"

"There's one open."

They were in a library, so an open book wasn't as out of the ordinary as the other things on Seto's mind. But for Mokuba to have mentioned it given their circumstances, it must have been something else off.

Before Seto could turn to look for himself, Mokuba said, "Take me back."

And that grabbed Seto's attention. "What?"

Had Mokuba been taken over again? He hadn't been aware of writing the words, but saying them? Seto rushed over to check, kneeling in front of Mokuba, whose expression gave him away, exasperated and still tinged with fear.

"It's still me. That's what the book says."

Mokuba pointed and Seto let his gaze follow Mokuba's finger. The book was on the table in front of the couch, and in large, elaborate scrawl,  _Take me back._  The handwriting was different than Mokuba's but also different than the words carved onto the counter, and that meant it was more than one person working on this ruse. Seto had assumed as much, but they had just checked the room for anyone else.

"It's a prop," Seto said, and picked it up to show Mokuba. "The rest of the pages are blank."

The terror didn't leave his eyes, but he did flip through the pages, from the message in the middle of the book to the back cover, and then to the front. He paused on the first page, which from Seto's angle, was as blank as the rest of them, and then turned it around.

Written on the first page in the most familiar writing Seto knew, was his own name. His handwriting had changed slightly since it looked as it did on the page, but it was undeniably his. There was nothing on the spine to indicate which book it was supposed to be, and that proved Seto's point. It was a prop; they hadn't known which books he had written in.

"It's a message for you," Mokuba said. "Who would be saying this?"

"There are a lot of people who have reason to hate me. Years after taking over KaibaCorp, people still hold grudges."

Mokuba rolled his eyes, but it seemed more to keep from crying than as a response to Seto. "So what, it's like the Big Five coming after us again?"

"Well, I'd hope they are gone for good."

Because if they weren't, it meant Gozaburo wasn't.

"I don't think this is VR," Seto told him, setting down the book to put his left hand, the one that still had feeling, over Mokuba's. "You don't have to worry about that."

"That's not what I'm worr—"

They both turned toward the door they had come through, where another crack had broken from frame to ceiling. It filled in, but nothing started dripping. The mist remained the same size and stayed mist. But too soon, they would have to find somewhere else. Or they would have to really start the search of the house.

"Niisama."

"Yes?"

"There's another book."

Seto took the second one from the table in the same spot the first one had been, but instead of the single sentence, the same three words were written in immaculate print on every page, front and back.

_Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back. Take me back._

Every page, cover to cover.

Seto checked the table for trap doors or mechanisms that would have made the book appear so suddenly, but it was solid wood without any spot Seto thought might possibly have contained any sort of mechanization. He would have noticed someone sneaking up to place the book, and there wasn't an obvious explanation.

Mokuba stood and went to the nearest shelf, taking down another book.

"It's the same," he said, and opened the book to Seto. The words were the same, and book after book, all came up with those words— _Take me back._

"We should go," Seto said. "Their message has gotten through."

"You know what it means?"

"I don't care what it means. Someone has a grudge and we'll find them."

They didn't return any of the books to the shelf, leaving two of them empty from Mokuba's search. None of this was theirs anymore, and once they got out, they would never look back.

"I don't care who it it," Mokuba said. "I just want to go home."

The mist began to grow, and Seto took Mokuba's hand. "Okay. We'll see if the balconies are open."

"What about the rain?"

Seto only needed to concern himself with one thing at a time, first if the balconies were open, and then if they could protect against the rain. The house was still so full, there must have been something to help them get out without being exposed to more of the numbing agent. If it wasn't falling anywhere aside from the house, they didn't have to make it far.

"We'll find a way."

One of the doors they had locked was closer to a staircase, so they started for it. Seto glanced over his shoulder at the building mist, where it branched into a height just below eye level, and for a moment, took on a human shape, but in a blink, began to solidify.

"We need to get upstairs before it does."

They closed the library door behind them, and when it shut, the mist began to pour from underneath.


	5. The Bedrooms

The house was dead silent as they walked up the stairs, without even a creak to fill the emptiness. But aside from that, there was nothing to indicate any of the oddities they had gone through were closing in. If they hadn’t just seen it, Seto never would have believed the downstairs was filling with the mist. Everything upstairs looked the same as it had when they moved out, except for all the closed doors. He would have thought that for staging purposes, they would have been left open.

“Which balcony?”

“The first we come to. If it’s blocked, we go to the others.”

It was a short walk to the first room, but without any sound around them, Seto needed to slow down. Any moment might lead to another crack breaking out on the ceiling or the mist rolling up the stairs after them, and moving too quickly meant missing potential signs.

Shouldn’t their steps creak or echo?

Seto stopped walking when Mokuba did, checking with him to see why.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, despite the obvious answer.

“Something’s off.”

Mokuba kept looking around him, ceiling to floor, right to left. He leaned side to side, but wasn’t able to pinpoint what he thought was wrong.

“Do you mean a feeling or something physical?” Seto asked, idly scratching the back of his hand. Mokuba still searched, and his gaze settled on the wall.

“The pictures are upside down.”

Sure enough, all of them were. Seto went to one and took it off the wall; it wasn’t the frame that had been flipped, but the picture inside.

“An odd detail for them to think of,” Seto said, and glanced back in time to see Mokuba’s sigh reach his eyes. They had only been in the house a few hours and Mokuba already looked exhausted.

“Okay,” Seto said, and hung the picture back on the wall. “No more stalling.”

The first bedroom they came to was a guest suite, but it had been Gozaburo’s room before. The three rooms with a balcony had belonged to him, to Mokuba, and to Seto. The maids had kept Gozaburo’s room clean after it had been renovated and scrubbed down to remove all traces of the cigar smell, but no one used it again. If it was the room that lead to them escaping—

He opened the door and froze, Mokuba tensing beside him as well, and the white figure on the bed didn’t move. The one human thing about it was its shape, and aside from that, it was only white, but it dripped like the rain on the windows, absorbing the drops and reforming from them. It sat on the other side of the bed, facing away from them, and stayed motionless.

_SolidVision?_ Seto wondered. _It looks too real for it_.

He glanced around for projectors and realized there were none, but the door to the balcony was still there. Would it stop them from getting to it?

_What was it?_

It was the first Seto had thought _what_ instead of _who_ , and immediately understood Mokuba’s faintly repressed panic. If it wasn’t VR, and it wasn’t possible, what else did that leave? What else explained the figure on the bed?

Mokuba grabbed Seto’s arm and tugged, trying to get him to go back into the hall. But the balcony door was still there, and there was no guarantee it would stay if they left to check the others. The figure wasn’t moving and it hadn’t reacted to them coming in. Maybe it wouldn’t.

His next step creaked, louder than it should have seemed because of the silence around them. Seto paused again, debating whether the figure not having ears meant it couldn’t hear, and also whether he should grab Mokuba and sprint for the door. It was closer than they were. If it wanted to cut them off, it could.

Before Seto could decide, its head, faceless, turned and without eyes, stared through him.

Mokuba grasped for the doorknob and slammed the door shut, and this time, he didn’t have to pull Seto away. They both took several large steps down the hall, watching the door and waiting for it to come out after them, but after several seconds and a length of two rooms, nothing happened.

“What was it?” Mokuba whispered, and his other hand joined the first on Seto’s arm. Both were trembling, and Seto couldn’t tell if it was just Mokuba, or both of them.

“It was in our way,” Seto said. He had to shake off the nerves for Mokuba’s sake and to get them away from this place. “Come on.”

They walked backward so they faced the closed door, still anticipating the figure coming after them, and with every step, the fear of it happening grew. Why was it waiting? It made it clear they had been seen, or maybe simply observed, but then it left them alone? The rest of the house seemed to be coming after them, and it stayed back.

“Why that room?” Mokuba asked, his breathing louder than his words.

“Coincidence,” Seto said. “Or blocking the exit.”

Seto rubbed the back of his hand against his pants leg while he walked, making his way back to Mokuba’s old room. He stopped outside of another guest room, and reached for the door.

“Niisama?”

He hadn’t thought to check before, but all the doors had been closed.

The figure was on the bed in that room too, in the same position the other had been, sitting, but with the faceless head turned to them. Was it the same one? Seto was certain it was a different door and a different room, but the same figure, staring at him without eyes.

Again, they closed the door and backed away, this time with a bit more confidence they weren’t being followed. Mokuba went back to holding Seto’s arm with just one hand, and they matched their steps moving away.

“Is there one in every room?”

“Or the same one is moving.”

The how didn’t matter as much as the fact they were likely to face that figure when it came to every balcony. If it was in all the bedrooms—and opening the next door down proved it was—then every exit would be blocked. When it came to the last room, they wouldn’t have a choice but to try getting by.

Seto opened the door to Mokuba’s room, keeping him back and out of sight, and stared down the figure. For some reason, it wasn’t as difficult as Seto expected staring at nothing to be, and after a minute, neither had caved. If it was just going to look, they could get to the balcony, open and promising behind it.

He took one step into the room, and the figure stood, never turning away from Seto.

“Niisama, no.”

“It’s made of liquid,” Seto said. “What can it do?”

But standing and staring at him had Seto reconsidering. Not knowing the answer to his own question meant endless possibilities. They had seen what was happening to the house around them, and what could form from the ooze. There was another room to try, but there was such a low chance they would come across anything other than what they were looking at.

It took a step toward them and Seto slammed the door closed, backing up and tripping over Mokuba’s foot, catching himself with an itching palm to the wall. He half expected it to crack under his touch, but it didn’t. The floors started to groan with every step back, until they were halfway to Seto’s room and it still didn’t come out. Was it just proving a point then?

“It’s the only way out,” Mokuba said, once they were sure it wasn’t going to join them in the hall.

Seto’s gaze locked onto the empty hallway in front of them, and he scratched his hand while he thought through the options, all limited and mostly pointless. If the balcony was truly their only escape, then they would have to try it at the next room.

“It will be in the same place,” Seto said. “It gives us a slight cushion to run.”

“And if it gets to us first?”

There wasn’t an honest and comforting way to answer him. He tried to pick an answer that would give Mokuba strength, but his fingernails snagged on something.

_How had that hand been itching?_

He lifted it to see where his nails had caught, and found his skin peeled back with rough edges, exposed down to the tendons. The blood that came out almost instantly clotted, beginning to ooze in a too familiar drip.

Mokuba reached for the hand before drawing back. “Is that the one you touched it with?”

“It is.”

His nailbeds were turning purple and aside from the itch, no feeling had returned.

“Don’t let it touch you,” Seto said.

“We can’t try it.”

“Stay on my left side. You run even if I have to stop.”

“Niisama—”

“Mokuba. It’s the only way.”

They didn’t open any of the other doors on the way to Seto’s room, not wanting the figure to get any closer than it was. Seto’s bed was set against the right-hand wall of his old room, and with the size, there was space for them to possibly make it. If not both of them, then at least Mokuba.

Seto got Mokuba into position outside his door, and had to make Mokuba let go of his arm again. “Promise you’ll run no matter what.”

“I can’t—”

“Mokuba.”

Mokuba shook his head while tears built. “I can’t just leave you.”

“I know you don’t want to, but if it’s the last chance, one of us needs to get out to get help, and it has already touched me. You are going to run, got it?”

Mokuba hugged him briefly before facing the door and wiping his face. “Okay, Niisama.”

_One,_ Seto started, counting to himself while steeling for the sprint. _Two,_ he thought, reaching for the doorknob and imagining the motion he needed to open it and run simultaneously. _Three—_

The figure stood in the doorway, inches from them.

They jumped back, grabbing at each other to make sure neither was left behind while they dashed away from the figure walking toward them. Each of its steps forward made up for ten of Seto’s back, catching them and pausing to let them run only to repeat the action again and again.

The ceiling cracked and the drops fell down in streams, splitting Seto and Mokuba to either side of the hall. They kept running without choice, knowing the end of the hallway was growing close. The mist filled in behind the figure, and it raised its hands— _did it have eyes for a second?_ —and vaporized to join the rest of the fast-moving hollow rushing toward them.

Momentum carried them into a wall at a dead end, and Seto opened the nearest door, reached across the white boundary between him and Mokuba, and pulled him into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it.

The mist crept under the bottom of the door and Seto grabbed a towel to plug the crack.

“It’s coming through the window.”

Seto cursed and tossed Mokuba the last of the towels. “Block it as much as you can.”

There was nowhere to go from here, nowhere else to retreat. When it got inside, because towels and wooden doors wouldn’t keep it at bay, that would be it for them.

He looked at Mokuba, frantically trying to block off the window, and didn’t want their last moments to be like this. He had been wrong. Whatever was after them didn’t want them alive, and he had let them be chased to their deaths.

“Mokuba.”

“I think I…I might have…almost…”

“Come here.”

Mokuba glanced over his shoulder like he planned to alternate his attention between Seto and the window, and must have realized in that moment. He dropped the towel and held out his arms for Seto to hug him close, and let the tears he had been holding fall.

“I don’t wanna die.”

The tap came on and the white ooze came out in place of water. The shower followed, and the toilet bubbled up and overflowed with it. Nothing else started to mist, which left the one outcome. They would drown in it.

“I love you,” Seto said, and got on his knees even though the floor was soaked. “I want you to know that. I mean it more than anything else I could express.”

“You’re saying goodbye?”

Nodding was hard, but lying would have been harder.

“You were right and I didn’t take this seriously. I should have listened to you.”

“You didn’t wanna come back,” Mokuba said, and closed his eyes when the ceiling cracked, wider than the rest, adding to the ever-growing flood. There wasn’t anywhere safe to stand to keep it from getting on his face and in his hair, so Seto pulled him closer again, standing to cover him as long as he could.

“Remember, it takes away the feeling,” Seto said. “You won’t feel anything.”

Seto hoped they wouldn’t. His legs were still cold and he could feel his pants clinging to his skin, so the hollow wall and the mist might have caused two different reactions.

He closed his eyes while it covered his face, and when he felt it reach his elbows, tried to pick up Mokuba. Any higher and he would have to start swimming while Seto watched, but Mokuba was short enough to stand on the sink for more time.

After another couple of minutes, Seto stood on the toilet seat to keep a hand in Mokuba’s. He had to crouch while Mokuba arched to keep his chin above the surface, but too soon, they were both treading.

Seto was going to have to watch Mokuba die, unable to stop it. He had been up against forces he didn’t understand and that he entirely underestimated, and Mokuba was seconds from dying because of it.

They took their last gasp of air at the same time and went under, hand in hand, to float, suspended off the floor.

Would it feel the same as drowning? Seto wondered.

Mokuba’s hand tensed around his, a last desperate plea for Seto to do _something_ to rescue him.

The world around them rippled when a crack opened on the floor, and they fell with the rest of the room.


	6. The Ballroom

The world was white and stayed white while Seto groaned and sat up, trying to check for injuries and feel for Mokuba. Seto's shoulder burned from the fall, but there was no sensation up to his elbow now. It wasn't as important as finding Mokuba through the white slick around and on them, covering Seto's eyes and forcing him to breathe through his mouth while his nose was covered.

"Mokuba?"

Not getting an immediate reply, Seto ran his hands over the floor, through the ooze building between his fingers and the ever-growing puddle. They were alive. Mokuba had to be alive too.

"Mokuba?"

He heard coughing and moved toward the sound, finding Mokuba and pulling him close in one arm, and wiping at his eyes with the other hand. It did little good when his hands were coated, but several swipes cleared enough away to get a look at Mokuba, also coated in it, and coughing it out.

"Here, here." Seto patted Mokuba's back firmly, checking every few seconds until he wasn't choking. "Is that all of it?"

Mokuba held on to Seto, deep breaths shaking him through. His fingers curled in Seto's soaked shirt, hanging on as if he expected another fall, and his body tensed in anticipation of another coughing fit.

"Are you hurt?"

At Mokuba's nod, Seto wiped his eyes clean and started searching for wherever he might have been injured. He winced when Seto touched his wrist, and then again on his jaw. Neither felt broken, which after that fall, was practically a miracle.

But his hand still itched.

Seto moved them out from under the broken ceiling to the middle of the ballroom, where the candle was burning without waver. Mokuba didn't need to see that, and Seto turned him away so it was out of his sight. With how close Mokuba was to breaking, Seto needed to keep him calm until he regained control of his breathing.

"We're alive," Seto told him. "You hear me? We're okay."

For the moment, it was true, but the candle taunted him.

By the time most of the liquid had dripped off of them, moving together like a single entity, Mokuba's breathing had quieted enough Seto thought he would be okay. They weren't dead yet, and not being dead meant there was still a chance, no matter how small. Seto couldn't let Mokuba go through that again. No matter what happened, he wouldn't force them through another goodbye.

"Can you breathe well enough?" Seto asked, and Mokuba nodded.

"It's in my throat."

"Let me see."

Mokuba tilted his head back, and Seto didn't let himself react to the white still coating Mokuba's throat. It was dripping down like it had run off their skin, and every few seconds, Mokuba gagged.

"We may need to make you vomit."

But it was probably already filling his stomach. They wouldn't be able to tell if all of it came out or what damage had been done, and given the state of Seto's hand, Seto hated to think what it was doing inside of Mokuba.

"Come on. I'm going to put my fingers in, okay?"

Mokuba nodded, and they positioned themselves to avoid any of the splatter that came out, and kept coming, when Seto reached in. He whispered words of comfort to Mokuba while Mokuba's body turned against him, and knew it would never be enough.

But he saw his own hand, rotting up past his wrist. Was there any coming back from that? Even if they made it out, could anything heal his hand? And what about what had gotten inside Mokuba?

It took ten minutes for Mokuba to come back down from the heaving. Seto gathered Mokuba back into his arms, still facing away from the candle, and ran a hand over his back. They would find a way out, but Seto didn't assure Mokuba of it anymore, knowing how it would sound. He had heard enough of the false confidences today.

The doors swung open and the mist poured in, rushing along the walls, floor to ceiling, left to right, and taking every exit. Seto kept his hand on the back of Mokuba's head so he didn't have to see. It turned into the solid, empty version of the mist, the one Seto couldn't look into, and left them entirely surrounded.

Seto expected it to move in until it engulfed them, but it stayed where it was. Although Mokuba was too old for it, Seto rocked him gently, closing his eyes to the room. He didn't know how they were going to get out of this one, and having survived the flood and the fall, Seto knew it still wasn't enough.

"Niisama?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"How long will it be?"

Seto opened his eyes to look down at Mokuba, who peeked up at him through his bangs. His eyes were lighter than they had been before, just a shade, but enough Seto knew that whatever was inside him was spreading. The gray was much too light, and it bled into the whites of his eyes.

"Not much longer," Seto told him. "We don't have to move."

Seto glanced up once he caught the mist swirling across from them, forming the figure. It stared at Seto as it had before, unmoving and firm. After everything, Seto was tired of waiting for his answer.

"Who are you?" he asked, and when it didn't move, again, louder. "Who are you?"

Mokuba turned to look, clutching Seto more tightly. "That's what's after us?"

Seto couldn't think of any other explanation, and given their location, he didn't think he needed to keep asking who. The question changed, this time a demand.

"What do you want?"

"Niisama. It doesn't have a mouth."

The rocking didn't stop while the staring match from upstairs picked up again.

"It managed to get eyes."

"No, Niisama. It didn't."

Seto was certain he had seen them before, but Mokuba might not have been looking in their haste to get away. But there were no eyes now, no mouth, nowhere to focus his gaze except the entire face that Seto was beginning to feel he knew. The more he stared the more the familiarity set in.

He didn't want to let go of Mokuba, but also didn't want to be sitting down for this encounter. They knew each other. Even without a face, Seto could tell the figure knew him.

"Take you where?" he asked, and that was the question that forced it to move, slightly angling its head to the covered wall behind it, where the mist evaporated and revealed the wall. One of the house's many hidden doors opened to a staircase heading down.

"I've always hated this house," Seto said, and got to his feet, Mokuba still in his arms. "Lead the way."

It stepped aside and Seto debated leaving Mokuba, but carried him to the door and down the stairs, walking blindly when the figure closed the door behind them.


	7. Chapter 7

"Niisama?"

The stairwell down was dark and narrow, one Seto hadn't known had been in the house. If it went to the basement or fallout shelter like Seto suspected, it didn't offer any light on why it was their forced destination. The figure knew its way around, which didn't surprise Seto. It was his house, after all.

His response to Mokuba was cut off when the figure brushed by him and the light in the basement hallway came on. The figure walked ahead, back to Seto and Mokuba, although clearly expecting them to follow.

_How did he get out? The world was destroyed, wasn't it?_

It wasn't built like Gozaburo, but it couldn't have been anyone else. If this had been a possibility while he was alive, including life in the virtual world, he would have used this tactic from the beginning. Nothing living could have conjured this sort of power, leaving only the dead. And what other spirit or being had this much anger brimming to summon so much animosity toward them? Why put them through this series of horrors if it only wanted to kill them?

"If you want to kill us, why put us through this?" Seto asked.

The laughter he thought he had heard before returned, but not from the figure. It echoed down the hall, whirling in a current around them, before fading into deep whispers. "Am I supposed to know?" he pressed without reply.

It had to be him. Seto couldn't think of anyone else as thoughtfully vindictive as Gozaburo, who would have known the simplest way to put them through hell for something as petty as revenge was to force them to face each other's death.

It led them back into the basement workroom where Gozaburo had built the initial world to home Noa. It had been cleared out for only a week before Seto decided the space was too empty, and filled it with the furniture and boxes of things Seto hadn't wanted to look at after Gozaburo's death.

"We're here," Seto said, and put down Mokuba so he wouldn't feel his arms tremor. They had been herded, nearly killed, made to rot inside and out, and Seto couldn't think of a thing to do about it other than face down the ghost of his past and demand a resolution.

The figure faced them once again, and outside of the rippling ghost in front of them, the basement hadn't changed since the last time Seto came down to drop off a box of books. It did seem a fitting place to have a final confrontation, surrounded by all of his things, discarded and forgotten like Gozaburo had been. Maybe it was more fitting that they would be left down here with the rest.

"Do you plan to keep us waiting?"

The ripples and drips began working upwards, spinning around the figure, solidifying here and there, and the first thing to appear were the eyes. Seto expected hazel, but was met with blue.

Inch by inch, the figure transformed, and inch by inch, Seto's anger grew. He stopped considering the how and let the disbelief merge into anger. The tremoring stopped and Seto let go of Mokuba's hand.

"You're not meant to be here."

The ooze poured out of its mouth a moment before rushing back in, and Seto stared back at himself. The version of himself standing across from them was younger and shorter, but had Gozaburo's glint in his eyes. He knew this child, and he thought it had been banished long ago.

"Take me back."

"You no longer have a place here."

The glint sharpened. "Take me back."

"That is what all of this is about?" Seto said. "All of this because you want back in?"

Its movements still resembled the mist, slow and smooth, a step forward like a meld with the ground, and still, the gaze never left Seto's. Mokuba took a step behind Seto while the other, younger, Seto came closer, one shortened step at a time.

Seto shrugged. "Fine. There's no place for you here anymore."

After being cast out, any place inside of Seto that might have clung to it had been filled with other traits that better defined him now. He had built and grown since the time this child had been any part of him. The idea that it assumed it could rejoin with him without issue proved just how naïve he had been during point in his life. Naïve and struggling too much to mimic Gozaburo, even to the point of putting Mokuba through the day's terrors.

"Niisama, you can't."

"It isn't part of me anymore," Seto said. "Taking it back won't amount to anything."

They continued to stare, even as Mokuba protested Seto's willingness to accept the conditions.

But what other choice was there? They couldn't fight the spirit in the physical world when it had supernatural abilities, but if Seto let it back inside of him? He could kill it then for good. A simple banishment wouldn't suffice this time.

He had to get Mokuba out of the house and if the demon he had to fight was his own, then he was guaranteed to come out on top. Seto was stronger than this broken boy who had nothing better to do in death than haunt the only people who knew what he had gone through.

"Come back," Seto said. "See if you don't burn."

They came together, the ghost of Seto reaching up for his face before becoming the mist, clinging to his skin and absorbing into it. Seto braced for a different sensation, or any sign of it trying to take over. Nothing came and when the mist was gone, they were alone in a house that seemed their own again.

And then he heard the laughter.

* * *

 

"Are you okay?" Mokuba asked, stepping forward once, tilting his head to get a look at Niisama's shadowed face. He expected the house to give a reaction to what that other version of Seto had just done, but Niisama wasn't even moving. His hand, which had been turning purple, was growing lighter, like maybe it was going to heal.

Was it over? Could they go?

"Niisama?" Mokuba asked, voice weak and shaking, but stronger than it had been. He couldn't feel the drips in his throat or that weight in his stomach. Did that mean it had left him too?

"We can go now," Seto said. "It's over."

His posture straightened and with it, everything around him seemed to change to something familiar and terrifying. The way he stood was too perfect, like there was a whip at his back making it so. Mokuba recreated the distance between them, because that wasn't his brother, at least, it hadn't been in a very long time.

"Are you sure it's over?" Mokuba asked. "It doesn't seem like it's over."

Seto faced him and Mokuba took another step back. Seto stalked toward him, forcing Mokuba back and back. He couldn't do anything. Seto hadn't been able to stop the mist and the figure, so how could Mokuba expect to?

"It's over," Seto said, not as a comfort, but a fact. "I have work to do."

"You're not him."

Niisama had been so sure he could fight it. It really took over so quickly? Was Niisama still inside fighting? This other Seto didn't seem to be reacting to an internal fight, but Mokuba knew Niisama wouldn't have agreed if he couldn't handle it.

"You remember me," Seto said. "I can see it in your eyes."

"You're not my brother," Mokuba said with a little more force. "You're  _not_  him."

Seto kept moving forward and Mokuba kept backing up.

"I am your brother, Mokuba. Now come with me."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Mokuba said. "Give my brother back."

"I am back."

This Seto still wanted KaibaLand and some of the same things he wanted so many years later, but this was also the Seto who drove Gozaburo to his death, created a theme park to kill people, and had to be banished to bring the real Niisama out. It had just put them through all those awful things, and wanted Mokuba to pretend it was okay?

There had to be a way to get through to Niisama. If he was still inside fighting, then he needed Mokuba's help or he needed time. Could he get out if they left the house? Mokuba didn't know, but it made sense with how eager this Seto was to leave that going outside would trap Niisama.

"It's time to go, Mokuba."

Mokuba shook his head. "Not with you."

He turned and ran. If Niisama had been possessed, maybe all the mist and the blocked doors were gone. If he couldn't give him enough time, then he could go get someone to help. But he trusted Niisama to come through. The ghost of his past was strong, but Niisama was stronger.

Scrambling up the stairs, Mokuba caught the door and slammed it behind him as if that would keep Seto inside, and ran through the ballroom, door still sealed with a wall, but with all the mist gone. The candle from the attic burned in the center of the room, which meant the ghost still had some sort of control over what was happening in the house.

Mokuba ran faster.

The front door was still gone and the cracks around the house had expanded, covering the walls and ceiling, with dust filling the air like the mist had never gone. If the house came down around them, would Niisama ever get out? Mokuba had to hide so Niisama had time.

He ran back upstairs to see if the balcony doors were still open, and heard Seto's voice following him up the stairs. There wasn't time to get into one of the passageways on this floor, and he ran into the first bedroom he came across, locking the door and hiding in the closet.

_Please, Niisama. Please win._

Mokuba pushed back into the corner and waited, trying not to cry. He would hear if Mokuba cried, and then everything would be lost. He breathed into hands cupped around his mouth and nose, and didn't let himself cry out when he heard the footsteps outside of the door. A crack broke across the ceiling above him and pieces of drywall broke and fell.

He didn't have any hope it would be his Seto who opened the door. It hadn't been nearly long enough. What was that Seto going to do with him?

It was Seto who opened the door, but neither one he was expecting.  
  
"Mokie?"


	8. The Mansion

Seto knelt in front of Mokuba, putting a hand on his knee. "It'll be okay," he said, voice young and unchanged. This wasn't either of the Setos from down in the basement, but the one Mokuba remembered from before being adopted, back when the only hardness in his expression was determination.

"He's still in there, Mokie," Seto said. "I promise. We will get him back."

"How? It took over so fast."

"He hasn't won out," Seto told him. "But he can't do this alone."

This Seto was younger than Mokuba, but still looked at him like he was five. It had been so long since Mokuba had even caught a glimpse of this version of his brother, and with all the terrors going on in the house and with Niisama, Mokuba still wanted to hug the boy in front of him.

"What do we do?" Mokuba asked. "You'll help me?"

Seto nodded and put a hand to Mokuba's cheek. They were barely visible in the darkness, but kept the eye contact through the shadows. "He's forcing your Seto back. We have to bring him back to the front, and then he can get rid of our other self."

"How?"

"I love you more than anything," Seto said. "You'll get through."

"I was down there with him," Mokuba said, shaking his head. "He didn't come out when he saw me."

"He's fighting."

"It took months to put himself back together before."

Seto nodded. "You were his last piece. It took him that long to realize you were what held him together, and knowing now, he can come back faster this time."

The crack on the ceiling grew larger.

"We don't have much time," Seto said. "You'll be able to get through to him."

Mokuba thought of the figure and the mist, of drowning and the ever-burning candle. He wasn't dealing with Niisama, but the person capable of doing all that. What if he got the mist to drown Mokuba again? Or had the roof collapse on him?

"Are you coming?"

"I'll stay with you. If I can get close enough, I can join Seto in fighting back."

If Mokuba didn't remember Seto at this age, he might have argued a kid couldn't help much. But Mokuba wasn't much older, and they were the only chance Niisama had. Hiding in a closet would just hurt everyone.

"Okay. I'll go."

"I'm really proud of you," Seto said, helping Mokuba to his feet. "We will always protect you."

Except now he would have to protect against a stronger version of himself.

"Do you know where he is?" Mokuba asked.

Seto closed his eyes. "He's up here. Close."

"We need a plan first."

"A strategy," Seto agreed. "And nothing that gets you hurt."

"Can  _you_  get hurt?"

"I'm not really real anymore. He won't hurt me."

"Then I just talk to him? No matter what he starts doing? Will hearing my voice be enough?" Mokuba asked. There was a lot of risk in just walking up to him, and if talking didn't work, Mokuba didn't have any sort of backup. But he trusted Niisama and had to trust this Seto too.

"You're enough."

"Okay. Okay, I'll go."

Mokuba opened the closet door and peeked into the bedroom, breath held and eyes wide so he didn't miss anything. The windows were frosted over, but other than that, Mokuba couldn't find anything that said his brother's ghost was after him. And he didn't know what it wanted with him, or why it cared if he went too.

"It doesn't even act like Niisama did back then."

"He's been banished for years."

"That's not really an answer."

He moved slowly since his steps were the only ones he could hear. Seto's beside him were silent, and Mokuba kept checking to see if his feet were touching the floor or if he was floating. Then he realized he wasn't on the lookout for the Seto he was scared of, and searched the hall outside for him.

"Do you hear him?" Mokuba whispered.

Seto closed his eyes again. "Yes."

"Close to us?"

"Yeah."

Mokuba didn't know if that was good or bad. But he started toward it, sticking close to the walls to lessen the creaks. It probably wouldn't have mattered with the cracks echoing and and the sound of ice shattering over the windows. Maybe the ghost could hear Mokuba despite the house crumbling on top of him. Every step made it worse, like fighting back, even in intent alone, was going to be futile.

He checked with each motion, knowing the mist was going to start trying to grab him if he messed up even a little, but having Seto beside him, even this little Seto, made him think he could probably handle it. This was still his brother. They were all his brother.

They went down the same hallways Seto and Mokuba had sprinted through before, but this time, all the doors stood open. A breeze drifted through the halls, maybe from the cracks or maybe from wherever Niisama's ghost came from. It felt wrong, not like wind but a breath on the back of his neck, an entity standing too close and pressing down on him.

The hallway dead-ended and Mokuba looked down at the hole in the floor they had fallen through. All the water they drowned in was gone, but there was no sign of the other Seto.

"Where is he?" Mokuba whispered.

"He's here."

Mokuba turned when Seto did, and faced down the specter Niisama's body. There was no accompanying mist, nothing to prove it wasn't Niisama except for the way he looked at Mokuba.

"It's time to go, Mokuba."

"Niisama? Can you hear me, Niisama?"

Seto lifted his chin, but dropped his gaze to the younger Seto, approaching him slowly. "You aren't welcomed here," he said. "I have business with my brother."

"My business is with you," Seto said in his unchanged voice. "We have to help our brother."

Seto reached his hand out and disappeared when he touched the other. Mokuba saw the change, saw Niisama break to the surface for a moment, only long enough to force out a—" _Run._ "—before losing control once more.

But Mokuba was cornered, and running wouldn't help Niisama.

"I'm staying here, Niisama. I'm here with you."

Mokuba backed away when Seto came for him. "Mokuba, you're coming with me now."

"Why?" Mokuba asked, missing the chance to keep talking to Niisama. "Can't pretend to be him without me as a prop?"

"Yes."

He ran out of space to back away, left standing over the hole he had fallen through once, the candle burning in the ballroom below.

"Please, Niisama. Please come back."

But the flicker of Niisama didn't come back. The eyes stayed dark and the posture too stiff, crossing to Mokuba to take hold of his arm. "Now."

"No."

Mokuba stared into Seto's eyes, searching for any trace of Niisama fighting inside. "Niisama, please. You can do this. I know you're still in there and still fighting."

"He's not."

"He's stronger than you."

Seto smirked and grabbed Mokuba's other arm. "Are you coming?"

"Come on, Niisama. You can do this."

"You won't come with me?" Seto asked, and his grip on Mokuba's arms slackened. Mokuba wanted to take that as Niisama fighting his way out, but knew better. The eyes staring through him hadn't so much as blinked.

"I won't."

"Very well."

Seto let go, pushing Mokuba back, heels leaving the floor first, then his weight pulled him back and plummeting to the floor below, Seto watching above him.

* * *

 

_The three Setos faced each other, surrounded on all sides by the mist while it reflected the scene in the mansion. It was harder to hold focus while watching Mokuba hide, and then cry, finally getting to the point Seto didn't think Mokuba was going to be able to get out. He looked down to his younger self, said "Go to him," for only a moment, and then didn't watch him leave._

" _You are content to be a witness to your life?" came the dark voice across from him. It sounded broken, not fragile, but as if Seto was only hearing half of what was being said._

" _This isn't your mind to control any longer," Seto told him. His focus divided among watching Mokuba, speaking with his ghost, and breaking down the mist circling his consciousness. The best he had gotten were a few raindrop ripples branching out over it, but had made little ground in breaking through completely._

_But he would get there._

" _You are my body."_

" _You lost your claim when you let yourself be beaten."_

" _Then what of you now?"_

_Seto shook his head. "I haven't lost."_

_But the hollow surrounding them was becoming more rigid, and Seto stopped being able to make it move._

" _Yet."_

_Mokuba stood with Seto's younger self, and Seto couldn't lose focus long enough to follow their movements. He was better than the parody standing in front of him, and felt around his thoughts for all the strength he could muster. This was his body, his home, and he would not subject it to a ghost too similar to Gozaburo._

" _Join me." The words trailed the wall of the hollow and keep traveling, looping quieter and quieter until they were a part of his being._

" _No."_

_His thoughts became restricted and tight, the mist moving in any time he let his concentration slip. In his mind, he couldn't close his eyes to block out the view of Mokuba sneaking down a hallway, entirely unaware that the ghost he was running from was all around him. If Seto could just break the foothold it had inside of him, he could rid himself of it for good._

_It had to work that way. He couldn't accept another outcome._

" _You remember me," it said, the voice worming deeper. "We were one."_

" _You were a delusion."_

" _I am your strength."_

_Mokuba hit the dead end and Seto looked at his face, splayed across the incoming swell of white. It was all around, too fast for his efforts to keep at bay. His face stretched and curved to show off every detail of his fear, but also of the courage it took to look into a face that would haunt him for years to come, should they make their way out. Would he be able to look at Seto the same after this?_

_Seto couldn't hear the words, but he watched Mokuba speak, read his lips to hear the pleas. His mind filled in the voice, bringing Mokuba's tremor to fill what little space was left around Seto._

_Little Seto reappeared beside him, and the hollow faded enough Seto found his foothold to push it back and hold it away. He took control again, long enough to get out his own plea, a brief and urgent "Run," before he was thrown out of control. His concentration had been lost in the attempt, and quicker than before, Seto ran out of space._

_Having an ally beside him, even one as weak as he had been at twelve, only helped him stave off the wall enough it didn't swallow them then. What would happen if it overtook them inside his mind? Would the other Seto win out, banish them and pick up where it had left off? Was taking down Seto here the same to it as taking down Gozaburo had been then?_

" _You are nothing," Seto said. "Now burn."_

_His own hands grabbed Mokuba without his willing them to._

" _We burn together," the voice whispered._

_Seto looked into Mokuba's desperate eyes and poured his energy into fighting back the wall, and then lost control of it all when Mokuba reached for him, falling back, falling down, and falling away._

_No._

_No._

No.

_Seto screamed, absorbing little Seto fully and creating light of his own, brighter than the whiteness surrounding him and keeping him from Mokuba._ I'll always protect you. _Mokuba was falling._

_Burn._

_His energy and light scorched the ghost before him, who laughed while it burned._ The wall enclosing his mind dissipated, and Seto came back to himself as Mokuba snapped against the ballroom floor, head knocking over the candle when it hit.

* * *

 

Seto jumped down, landing on his feet a split moment before hitting his knees, and rushing forward to Mokuba, hands carefully running over his body to find injuries. He had heard something break and kept telling himself again and again and again it was an arm or a leg, not his neck or back.

"Open your eyes," Seto said, placing hands on Mokuba's cheeks. "Show me you're okay."

His elbow faced the wrong way and blood came from somewhere Seto couldn't find, but Mokuba's neck seemed straight. It was too much of a risk to try moving him without knowing if his back was broken, but but the ceiling above them and the ceiling above that, was splintering and starting to fall.

"You've got to come to, kid," Seto said. "It's over. We have to go.  _I need you_  to wake up."

The candle still burned tipped over, and Seto put it out with his fingers to focus on Mokuba. He leaned over him to protect him from the debris falling, still begging him to just open his eyes. "That's all I need. Open your eyes so I know you can hear me."

Mokuba did, fluttering them open, rolling them closed, and wincing when he found Seto above him.

"It's me. You got me back. You did it."

The pain blossomed across his features and tears built at the corner of his eyes.

"We're getting out," Seto told him. "But I need you to let me know where it hurts. Can you feel your legs? Arms? Does it hurt to breathe?"

Mokuba nodded once to each question, so Seto pulled up his shirt to check. He must have landed partly on his side, hitting elbow and ribs, maybe his hip, in the impact. But if he could feel everything, Seto had to take the risk in moving him.

"This is going to hurt, but I'm getting you out and we're going to a hospital."

The door in the ballroom had opened, and although it was the closest, Seto was going to take Mokuba out the front. The back gate would be locked, and the car was parked in the driveway. The front door was best and it would be there. Seto had no doubts about that any longer.

"On the count of three. One, two, three—"

Mokuba cried and choked on the sobs when Seto took him into his arms, keeping the broken bones facing out, but knowing it would hardly prevent any pain. He had to move too quickly to beat the falling ceiling, but more than that, to get Mokuba to help.

Seto ran, Mokuba wailed and whimpered, and the house gave a final groan as Seto made it to the door. He worked it open, having to jostle Mokuba too much, and dashed into the yard, turning to look at the house in anticipation of it crumbling.

But it stood steady and unbroken from the outside, without any sign of the damage within. Only through the open front door could Seto still see it, to prove that everything they had gone through had been real. It happened, and Mokuba was broken because of it.

Seto draped him across the backseat, pressed the button to start the engine, and sped away.

* * *

 

At the end of every work day, Seto drove by the mansion. It probably wasn't wise, but every time, he expected to see it fallen and in ruins. But the outside remained pristine and the inside in shambles, taking away his choice to sell. The house stayed his, and Seto drove by to stare.

He thought he might see a figure in the window, taunting him to come back in for another round. Or that the candle would be in the attic window, lit again to stay that way, unless Seto went in for it. Or that the mist would be coating the front lawn like morning fog or twilight dew, ready to sweep him up should he walk through.

But the mansion was just that, and Seto didn't return.

He parked in front three weeks after their escape, this time at night, car lights off and the area illuminated by only one street lamp a few yards in front of him. If the candle were inside, he would have seen the shadows move. If a figure were there, he would have felt its gaze.

Nothing came of watching the mansion, and Seto let the swell of pride sink in. He had gotten out.

Mokuba, effectively bedridden from his injuries, had asked Seto to take a break from his long hours at work to spend a night together, so Seto made himself start the car to head home. His gaze snagged on a reflection in his window, not his, but a set of eyes ten years too young, staring back at him in horror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading.


End file.
